


pyrite

by ghostsoldier



Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition
Genre: Angst, Boarding School, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, High School, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostsoldier/pseuds/ghostsoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derby's like a drug. A year of this, and he's still not out of your system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pyrite

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted in 2007.

It's approaching curfew by the time you drop Pinky off at the girl's dorm so you can head back to Harrington House. Before you go, she kisses your cheek.  
  
"Thanks, Bif," she says. She has to stand several steps up in order to reach you, and the hand braced on your shoulder is feminine, petite. "I had a great time. This was _lots_ more fun than my date with Derby would've been."  
  
She smiles then, and in that moment all the makeup she relies on to make her look like a college girl doesn't matter one bit, because she looks young, looks _happy_ , and you know, instinctively, that if you kissed her right now she would probably let you.  
  
You wish you wanted to. But you don't.  
  
Instead, you lean against one of the concrete columns and watch her cheerfully flounce inside, where she will no doubt tell Mandy and Christy about how her stupid boyfriend ditched her again and this time the engagement was off for _good_ , because she really means it this time. You've heard it before. All of you have, the preps, except for maybe Derby, which is ironic because he's the one person who should care and it's obvious that he doesn't. She’s broken off their engagement a good five times already this year, and every time Derby wins her back with presents and false promises, just like clockwork, until his usual habits set in again and he goes back to ignoring her. He's got it down to a science.  
  
On your walk back to Harrington House, you think about how you'd be more disapproving, but you suspect you're a big part of the reason he's so dismissive of her. After all, you know _exactly_ where he was during most of those broken dates. Where he was, who he was with.   
  
Just how much clothing he was or wasn't wearing at the time.  
  
Sometimes, you wish you felt guiltier about this, because maybe then you'd have the balls to stop. But Derby, he's like a drug. A year of this now, and he's no more out of your system than he was when you first started.  
  
He's waiting for you in your room. It's dark when you enter and when you flip on the lights, you don't see him at first -- he's lying back on your bed and doesn't sit up until you turn around to take off your coat, so that when you turn back it's like he's materialized out of thin air. To your credit, you don't startle. You're too tired for that.  
  
You incline your head in greeting, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be lying here in the dark, waiting. "Derby."  
  
" _Bif_." He's a lot more sarcastic in his reply, and you wonder how much he knows. "Did you have fun with my _girlfriend_ tonight?"  
  
Ah. Quite a bit then. You don't bother asking how he knows, or bother trying to deny it. He wouldn't tell you the first and wouldn't believe the second. "I suppose," you tell him. You're exhausted, and the thought of trying to deal with him tonight of all nights makes you ache. "We went to a movie. I bought her popcorn." You don't add, _And we spent most of the night talking about_ you. He probably wouldn't care anyway.  
  
Derby pushes to his feet and comes to stand in front of you. It's funny -- you're a head and a half taller than him and you've outweighed him since you were twelve, you know without a doubt that you could easily take him in a fight, and yet there's something about the way he stands, the way he talks. The force of his personality makes up for the physical space his body doesn't occupy, and if he decided to start a fight right here, right now, you're pretty sure you would lose. Not because you don't want to hit him, but because he's _Derby_. He's a Harrington. Harringtons _win_.  
  
You find yourself wanting to step backwards, and so you make sure to hold your ground. If he wants you to move back, he's going to have to shove you to do it.  
  
"Did you kiss her?" His voice is very low, and you can't read the expression on his face.  
  
You're so tired of this.  
  
"If I had," you say. "Which one of us would you be jealous of?"  
  
He stares at you. It’s obvious he doesn’t know what to make of this, which is no real surprise, seeing as you’ve never said anything of the sort before.  
  
"Derby?"  
  
His eyes meet yours. Pale blue, like ice, just as cold. Calculating. Not so cold at the moment.  
  
"Derby?" Your hands on his shoulders. He doesn't shove you away. "Which _one_?"  
  
He kisses you.  
  
This is how it's been since the beginning. He initiates, you follow. He always initiates. If it were anyone but Derby, this might bring you comfort -- it would mean you were wanted, you were desired, that this was about _you_. But even though you're fairly sure he doesn't do this with anyone else, you know that it couldn't possibly be about you. You're his friend -- you're probably his best friend, he's told you as much -- but like all of his friends you're also a means to an end, and for all you know this is just some deviant itch that he's using you to scratch. You suppose you should just count yourself lucky that he trusts you enough to let you do this. There are plenty of other boys he could go to, after all. He's got money enough to buy their silence. But he doesn't go to anyone else. He comes to _you_ , and even though that doesn't mean what you want it to mean, at least it means something.   
  
Tonight, though. Tonight, the knowledge that you normally take cold comfort in does nothing but make your stomach hurt. Who is he trying to punish, her or you? It would be so easy to fall into the blazing familiarity of his kiss, but instead you grip his shoulders and push him firmly away. The look he gives you is as bewildered as it is angry.  
  
"What are you doing?" he says.  
  
You swallow. "You never answered my question."  
  
Shutters instantly fall over his expression, but not before you have a chance to see something that looks like fear in his eyes. What on earth would Derby have to fear, especially from you of all people? "Well," he says. " _You're_ in a mood tonight. Did she bite when you tried to kiss her?"  
  
"It's not a hard question, Derby. If I kissed her, who would you be jealous of?"  
  
His jaw clenches, and not even the stoic mask he's wearing is enough to conceal his slowly rising anger. In the back of your mind, an impassive voice wonders just how hard you'd have to push him to make him break; you don't even know what you're trying to prove anymore.  
  
Maybe you're trying to make him hate you.  
  
Derby says, "Don't."  
  
"Don't what?"  
  
"Don't make me say it." And then, angrier still, "You have no _right_."  
  
Your hands drop from his shoulders and you sharply turn away. "Get out."  
  
"Bif..."  
  
"Get _out_. Get out of my room."  
  
When he touches your back, you whirl and knock his hand away, regret it instantly when he blinks at you in shocked indignation. You've never laid a hand on each other before, not like _that_ , and when he reaches for you again you settle for jerking away from his touch. This time, he grabs your arm and _holds_ it. God damn you. You don't have the strength to shake him off.  
  
"Bif, listen to me."  
  
"No, _you_ listen. I told you to get out. Get the fuck out, get--" He presses the palm of his other hand to your stomach and you falter. "-- _out_ , you..." His mouth touches the hollow of your throat, and you close your eyes. Damn him. _Damn_ him. "...fuck, Derby..."  
  
You don't pull away when he pulls your head down and kisses you again, and you don't resist when he walks you back towards the bed and pushes you down onto it. His mouth never leaves yours even as he strips you, which he does quickly and efficiently, the way he's quick and efficient about everything, and it's only when you finally give in and slide your hands up his chest than does the kiss break and he shudders. He pushes your hands down to his belt buckle. You oblige, as you always oblige him.  
  
You've never denied him anything.


End file.
